


What We Shouldn't Be

by Secretness



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse, Angst, Castiel Whump, Drugs, Dysfunctional Relationships, Hurt, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-11 09:20:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5621899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Secretness/pseuds/Secretness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel finally belonged, and he belonged to Dean.  Drugs made it easier to bare when Cas' devotion wouldn't let him so much as punch back, when Dean muffled his screams with a pillow to keep the camp from waking.  Drugs made it easier to bare afterwards when Dean walked away and left the angel a shattered mess.  That touch was meant to hurt, to take, but it was better than being without Dean.  In fleeting seconds, Cas thought he could see his old friend in the cold eyes that blamed him, and those seconds made it all worth while.</p><p>But when the previous version of Dean gets tossed into their lives, Cas doesn't know how to handle him anymore.  And Dean begins to realize he doesn't know anything about himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. To Be Dragged Down

**Author's Note:**

> 1 of 2, possibly 4 when I have time.
> 
> The next chapter is almost all future Dean and future Cas and what goes on between them. This one is more to break past Dean in.

Under glares that could have set each other a flame, both Deans stared at each other with contempt. The younger of the two made it clear he would not, possibly could not, be kept locked up or locked in. This was all too much for him. Some part of him wanted to sit in dark silence for the next three days just to make sure he never knew whatever Zachariah had wanted him to see, but he just couldn’t. Chuck was out there; Dean had already come across him, and Cas was too. Apparently the angel had his own cabin and was some sort of spiritual guide. 

Dean raised his eyebrows and rubbed a hand into the bridge of his nose, picturing Cas reading the bible to dirty campers in his monotone voice, occasionally annotating and retelling a story from first hand perspective, pointing out parts the human bible got incredibly wrong. 

He needed to find Cas and Sam and figure out how to foil Zachariah’s plan at the very least, but his future self was more of a pain in the ass than even he thought he could be, and wouldn’t let Dean near them. 

“Look!” his future self finally snapped, slamming his army green duffle bag on the table, glowering at the other man, “Sam isn’t around anymore, okay? He’s gone.”

Dean froze, argument poised and stunted on the end of his tongue, “...What?”

“He’s not Sam anymore; it’s Lucifer, so give it up. It’s done. Stop asking.”

Future Dean grabbed his bag again and swung it over his shoulder.

“How could you let that happen?” the younger one asked, his voice still quiet and slow with disbelief, “Where were you?”

The other man let out a long sigh, and said, his eyes on the floor, “I wasn’t there. I hadn’t talked to Sammy in a couple years. Next I hear, Lucifer has him tailored to fit…. Cas is here though,” he ads with a smirk as he kicked open the cabin door, “You should go enjoy that.”

Dean frowned again, but he was already alone. 

Deeply grumbling to himself, Dean trudged his way through the camp avoiding women as best he could, even dodging Chuck. A few whispered questions to some very confused looking bystanders just standing out in the grass enjoying the sun, and he was able to get pointed directions to Cas’ cabin. At first he was sure he was wrong though, when he saw the bead curtain in place of a door. Cautiously he eased his way up the pine steps and to the edge of the door. Almost immediately he heard Cas’ voice, and he relaxed, side stepping and entering the cabin. Once again, he found himself rooted to the spot.

Cas sat with three very beautiful, barely clothed women, all four of them sitting cross legged on pillows. Cas was in light, loose, baggy, drawstring clothing and scruffy. He stopped talking abruptly when Dean entered, turned to the women, and kindly dismissed them. As the ladies left, Dean slowly turned on his heels and took in the king size, curtained bed at the far end of the room, all the candles, burning incense, a few empty glass bottles on the floor. There was even a gong down by all the sitting pillows. Dean blinked several times, as though it might help make sense of all this. 

“Can I help you, Dean?” asked Cas, on his feet now, back to him, stretching and twisting like a cat.

“You’re a hippie now?” Dean hadn’t meant for those to be the words that came out, but he couldn’t help it.

“I thought you’d gotten over trying to label me.”

“Uh…. yeah, dude, Zachariah zapped me here,” Dean answered, trying very hard to avoid looking at the bottle of lube standing alone on the low dresser, just staring at him.

“Really, Cas, I’m telling the truth,” Dean pleaded, taking a step closer, “I need you to strap on your angel wings and get me back to my time.”

He couldn’t see Cas’ face, but he could hear the bitterness in his voice as the angel said, “I’d love to ‘strap on my wings’ for you, but we both know I can’t, so please tell me what you need.”

Leaning over to look around him, Dean watched as Cas pulled a yellow/orange canister from his pocket and popped the white lid. He expertly tipped three of the pills into his hand and snapped the lid back on, canister disappearing into his pocket.

“Dude, are you stoned?”

“Generally, yeah.”

“What happened to you?”

The most bitter and unamused laugh Dean had ever heard hit him.

As Cas finally turned around, he said, “Life…. You.”

Creasing his brows, Cas slowed and paused.

“You’re not you, not now you anyway.”

Dean’s face lit up, and he eagerly approached the unshaven angel, hands flapping about as he spoke, “Yes! Yes, Zachariah did this. He sent me from 2009, five years into the future to see the apocalypse or Sam with Lucifer filling. I don’t know. I’m supposed to learn to say yes to Michael, I guess…. You can’t send me back?”

Wide eyes looked at him, looked through him, so much like the Castiel from his time, it made Dean uncomfortable. There was no frown on Cas’ face now, just open, innocent curiosity, his head tilted to the side as he thought.

Slowly Cas’ lips parted, and said, “I cannot send you back. I’m sorry.”

Dean ground the butts of his palms into his eyes with exasperation. Of course Cas couldn’t. That would have been too easy.  
With a frustrated sigh, Dean flung his hands out, saying, “Then I guess--”

Cas jerked back as Dean’s hand went buy. It was still several inches from his face, but Cas’ flinch was so harsh, Dean’s words dropped off and his movements stalled. The eyes on Dean were wide still but in a very different way. The angel stood spring loaded, like an animal poised to run. For a tense moment they blinked at each other, then Dean slowly opened his hands as if to say he had no weapons and took a step back. Cas seemed to relax back into his regular high state.

“You okay?” Dean asked.

“Of course,” said Cas, turning away and pulling out his pill bottle again. 

He stuck a finger in and tried to pull out an extra pill, but Dean carefully reached and plucked it away with a couple fingers. He was a little late. The white capsule was already pinched between Cas’ forefinger and thumb.

“Still taking my pills, Dean?” asked Cas with a smile before he threw the pill in his mouth and dry swallowed. 

Dean looked down at the label, not recognizing the neatly printed name.

“Amphetamines?” 

“Goes well with the absinthe.”

With a lite gesture, Cas pointed to a tall, thin bottle. Before he pick it up to drink, Dean took a couple quick steps and snatched it off the shelf. 

“No, Cas, come on. You’re better than this.”

That bitter laugh was back, only this time he could see the grin that dripped skeptic amusement, and Cas said through it, “Since when? Why would you ever think that?”

The question took him by surprise but not as much at the tone. 

Quietly he asked, “What happened? Really?”

“Everything’s gone, Dean,” was the casual reply he received, “Sam, Bobby, the Impala, you.”

“I’m not gone.”

“Then you haven’t spent enough time with yourself. Everything and everyone left you, except me, but you’ve never much cared for me. You know I’ll never leave though, no matter what, so I’m an easy out.”

“What do you mean ‘easy out’?” asked Dean with trepidation. 

But Castiel just scratched the back of his neck and looked around for something to change the subject to. He needn’t have tried. 

Chuck was pushing aside the strings of beads, completely ignoring Dean, and said to Castiel, “Dean’s coming. I’m not sure what he wants.”

Castiel nodded and turned towards the younger version, saying, with his hand out, “My pills.”

Dean hesitated, but then a foot planted on the lowest of steps into Cas’ cabin, and the angel’s head snapped towards the noise and then back at Dean, almost a touch panicked. Dean handed over the pills and the bottle as his future self marched in. Cas shoved the pills in his pocket and went to the shelf where the absinth sat, downing a gulp with every step. He would have to be buzzed from that alone, if not more affected. 

“I’m going to hold a meeting,” the gruffer looking Dean said without preamble, stopping just inside, ignoring everyone but the other Dean, “Since I don’t know how long you’ll be here, some people should be informed so there isn’t any panic and maybe a little less confusion. My cabin. Ten minutes.”

Without waiting for a response, he stomped his way out, nearly taking down the beads in the process, Chuck following like a puppy.

Dean grimaced, looked over at Castiel, and said, “He’s a dick.”

Despite himself, Castiel smiled, and ducked his head, like he couldn’t force the grin away so he had to hide it. 

“I’m not sure I could make my way back to his place, so I’ll just wait for you,” Dean said, sliding his hands into his pockets, and watched as Castiel’s smile vanished, replaced by the high yet bitter look that seemed to be his new default expression.

“I won’t be going. Not invited. I’ll give you directions,” said Cas, turning away all together.

“What do you mean, not invited? You’re the only one who could tell for sure I’m me.”

“Unless he sends Chuck, I’m effectively uninvited to everything. That’s okay. It’s better this way.” 

Castiel took another swig of absinthe, and Dean shook his head, asking, “What happened between you two? I mean, I know in my time we’re not the beer and football kind of buddies, but it’s not like we couldn’t be if you cared about football. We’ve been through a lot together. It’s not something that just goes away.”

“It didn’t. It… went sour…. You should go before he gets angry I’ve kept you.”

~

The meeting was bizarre and awkward, two Deans surrounded by people the older one trusted, men and women, some old, some young, all scarred and weary. They didn’t doubt what they were told and simply took the information their leader offered. It was clear it would take some time to understand, but Dean had spoken of angels before, and they knew Cas had been one (though that made them feel angels were something quite laughable in contrast to the legends). The group was curious however, and seemed to decide to test him for themselves. They asked question after question. Sometimes Dean would answer in a way that made their eyebrows jump up and other times they laughed hysterically. At some point his older self slipped away, but Dean didn’t really care. He was getting his own questions answered now too. 

At least two hours after the meeting was called, they began to disband. The angry woman who had slapped him before gave him pointed directions back to Cas’ cabin. Dean was a little less worried about finding Cas’ place again. All he had to do was look for the beaded curtain in the doorway. It took him a fraction of the time as before to get there. It was dark now, and the camp had gone relatively quiet, more quiet than Dean was used to--no cars or planes or trains. It was dark too, nearly pitch black without city lights. Unnerving was a good way for it. Before his imagination could run away with him in the dark and silence, Dean took to Cas’ steps. Two steps up, he heard his own voice.

“I think you need another,” the older Dean was saying.

“You don’t need to. Really, I’ll do whatever you say. I always do,” Cas replied, his voice on the edge of panic.

Quiet now, the younger Dean edged his way up and beside the beaded curtain. He carefully leaned and peered in. Dean had Cas pinned up against the wall across from where Cas had placed his absinthe bottle, which was now empty on the floor. One of Dean’s hands had Castiel by the jaw, gripping in such a way the angel would certainly bruise. Cas held that arm almost desperately with both hands, but they didn’t seem to have any effect. 

“Take it,” Dean said, his voice light and amused, as he pressed a purple pill to Cas’’ bottom lip.

Dean practically pulled his mouth open. Castiel seemed to take it without much resistance though, and Dean reached into his jacket to withdraw a flask. He unscrewed it expertly with one hand and tipped it to Cas’ mouth. Castiel swallowed with eyes closed, and when they opened again, the younger Dean’s heart wrenched. The blatant hurt and betrayal and fear on Castiel’s face, in his wide eyes and parted mouth, was emotion Dean had never seen on anyone, much less his stoic angel. The older Dean let go and folded his arms across his chest, a twisted grin splitting his face, just waiting. Cas closed his eyes and clutched his hands together tight against his throat.

Finally Dean forced himself forward through the curtain and into the cabin, so lost and unsure of himself he just stood there and stared. Castiel looked at him in horror, and the older Dean smiled wider. 

“We’re sharing, are we?” Dean asked his younger self.

Before a retort could be made, Cas stumbled and threw his arms out to brace himself on the wall behind him. He sank a few inches but regained them quickly. The older Dean smirked, his arms still folded.

“What--” the younger one started, carefully taking a step closer, a frown deep on his face, “What did you give him?”

“Ecstasy, really potent ones.”

For a second Dean’s brain shut down, and then he slowly worked through it, “You just made him take a pill... ecstasy… with alcohol?”

“Well,” said his older self with no sign of trepidation, scratching his ear, “It was three pills, and the tranquilizer I gave him before that, and the rest of that bottle.” He gestured at the empty absinthe bottle on the floor, “So any minute here, he’s going to hit the floor.”

“Are you insane?” the younger Dean said, moving closer, “You’re going to kill him!”

“No, I know his tolerances. He’s going to fly, but it won’t be pleasant. Horrible things, he hallucinates, terrifying really, all the screaming and struggling but so drugged down he can barely move.” Dean took one step closer to the angel, planting his foot between Cas’, and fisted the hair on top of his head, hissing at him dangerously, “Because this is how you fly now, isn’t it? Angel with no wings, no powers, nothing--this is as high as you get.”

Whether Cas had heard or comprehended anything was unclear. His eyes were clouded now, rolling until only white could be seen, head falling back against the wall with a thud as his tormentor let go of him. For a few seconds more he struggled to stay upwards, but then he let out a horrible shriek that shattered the air and tried to push the other man away. The older Dean was right, it seemed. Cas’ arms looked heavy, too heavy to do what he wanted them to. He started mumbling sounds that were not words or even parts of words. His knees buckled.

“And here we go,” Dean said, grabbing the front of Cas’ shirt as the angel went down and lifted his nearly limp body up and over his shoulder.

For most of it, almost all of it, the younger Dean stood rooted to the spot. In the back of his mind, he saw it all--drugs and alcohol forced into Cas, the truly evil things his future self said--but in practice, in thought, he couldn’t understand. Something about it wasn’t clicking. There had to be something going on. Maybe Cas was given the drugs now under supervision to keep him from overdosing on his own? Maybe he didn’t…. Maybe…. 

All the excuses were weak, even to him. This just didn’t make sense. He cared about Cas. Yeah, he was weird and awkward and sometimes difficult to be around, but no matter what, Dean would go to the mat for him without question. That all aside, Dean was sure drugging people had never been a hobby he wanted to take up. Again, it didn’t make sense.

But then he watched his large, gruff, future self grab Cas’ arm as the angel slid down the wall and yank him bodily up and toss him over his shoulder. It didn’t have to make sense. The way his future self handled Castiel, without regard or care, like his friend was nothing, the way Castiel’s loss of cognition somehow amused him, how he seemed to think he had some right to do this--sense didn’t matter. 

Subtly, as his future self hauled Castiel over to the ridiculously large bed, Dean slid his hand up behind his own back and felt the strong comfort of his gun handle. He didn’t care how many times he had to shoot the son-of-a-bitch, this wasn’t going to happen again. But he waited until the other man put Castiel down, not wanting the semi-conscious angel to hit the floor. 

Castiel screamed again as Dean approached the bed, twisting slightly in his grip, moving as best he could. Dean leaned forward and flopped the angel onto the bed with ease and no delicacy. Castiel bounced on the bed as he landed, and the younger Dean heard his harsh gasp at every bounce, fingers splayed and tense, eyes wide and seeing something above him that wasn’t there. Every breath came out with a whimper. 

Grasping the handle of his gun, the younger Dean pulled the weapon out and clicked off the safety. 

He froze again, his mind stunted. 

Future Dean quickly reached out and yanked free the bow that tied Castiel’s loose pants. Without a second’s hesitation, Dean flipped Cas over onto his stomach and curled his fingers into the top band. Castiel sounded like he was sobbing, one arm trapped awkwardly underneath him. Drool ran from his open mouth out onto the deep red comforter, his world spinning endlessly from being turned so quickly. He was getting worse. Less movement came, less resistance to whatever his mind was seeing, his eyes half closed with only whites visible, mouth working with constant, garbled pleas.

In one smooth, practiced motion, future Dean yanked down Cas’ pants and hiked a leg up onto the bed, then another, and rested back, comfortably straddling Castiel’s thighs. 

Cas hadn’t been wearing anything underneath. His ass was bare, pale, and completely unguarded to the probing fingers of his assailant. The way Dean parted Cas’ ass and sank two fingers into his body was methodical, his expression blank. The coldness of it struck the younger Dean like a slap.

“Get away from him,” he commanded, his gun hand steady, “Now. Get your hands off him and get out.”

The older one frowned at the gun and then gave his younger self an incredulous look, two of his fingers sinking into Castiel’s body. 

He said coolly, “I told you we could share. He’ll be like this for hours. And he’s always opened up, so you don’t have to worry about sloppy seconds. I wouldn’t use that end though,” he said as an afterthought, gesturing to Cas’ head, “Hallucinations and teeth--”

“I said get away from him!” 

The older Dean seemed genuinely confused. He eased back off of Cas and the bed and took a couple steps towards the other man, who would have preferred distance be kept, but every step towards him was a step away from Castiel. 

Past Dean asked almost desperately, “Why?”

“Why? Why use him? Why drug him?” future Dean smirked, “Is there anything for an angel without powers or heaven? All the other angels are gone. They left him. Even they knew how completely useless he was. Do you know how many times I’ve wondered how different it would be if we had a different angel watching us? One that mattered? So I found a use for him.” Dean smiled a truly awful grin and continued, “He’s good for it. If I want him to rut like an animal he does. If I want him to moan like the little fucking hoar he is, he does. Whatever I say. And if I say to please a group of men because I think they’ve earned a reward, well he does that too. Funny though, even this isn’t really him. It’s Jimmy’s body that’s all the fun. The drugs I enjoy in addition to that little trophy there. He’s not quite unconscious and still struggles but has no idea what I’m doing to him. I’ve gotten a couple of my men, and we fucked and came in him all night, and the next day he thought it was only me. Still has no clue.”

Mortifying, there was no other word, and that one didn’t do it justice, not nearly. 

Quietly, gun still trained, past Dean said, “You’re not me. You’re some fucking monster. I would never do this to anyone, especially Cas. You’re one sick bastard.”

“And yet you came here when I told you to come enjoy him. You stood there and watched when I grabbed him and drugged him and stripped him and fingered him. You liked it.”

“Not ever,” Dean said forcefully, “No matter what! Get out now.”

The monster before him frowned as if he hadn’t been expecting this sort of reaction at all.

“Five years ago,” he pondered out loud, “Cas five years ago--the trench coat, right? And the tie. His messy hair, and that dumbass way he looks at you every time you open your mouth because he’s too stupid to understand anything. He still had his powers back then…. He was still… innocent? God, I’d love to have him back like that, grab his hips and fuck into that virgin hole--”

BANG.

Dean shot him. The red he was seeing took his aim off a bit, but the bullet sank into the monster’s chest, making him stumble. It planted a little high and a little more to the right than Dean would have like, but it served to shut the bastard up as he watched blood bleed down the front of his own shirt. He was shocked. He hadn’t expected this sort of confrontation at all.

On instinct the monster whipped a gun out at faster speed than Dean could, and they held each other there, identical guns poised. There was no mistaking the anger growing in the monster as he glared and grit his teeth. 

“Move and let me pass,” he hissed through a clenched jaw.

“I’d rather just kill you,” Dean replied, but before he could react, the monster swung his gun around and pointed it at Cas, who Dean realized then had screamed when the gun went off and was now in a fit of shrieks, hand shaking violently beside his head, barely able to breathe.

“Let me pass or I will shoot that little fuckable angel you care so much about,” threatened the monster, pressing on his wound with his free hand, painting it with red, and then hissed out an ironic laugh, “I forgot how righteous I thought I was, how noble--what a hero, Castiel’s hero. I always did like coming to his rescue. Eventually you’ll learn taking him is a lot more satisfying. The power rush you’ll get from holding him down, how he begs and says your name like a prayer. It’s pathetic.”

The urge to shoot him again, this time in the face, was nearly overpowering. The only thing that prevented his trigger finger was the barrel pointed at Cas, but this wasn’t going to fly. Dean would figure out what he was supposed to learn for Zachariah, and then blow out the bastard’s teeth. Dean didn’t think on it. He shuffled his feet to the side, gun still trained on the monster with Castiel in his crosshairs. At a tense stalemate, Dean inched closer to the bed, and the other man inched further towards the door until he was at the beads and took off through it, yanking down a couple strings from the doorframe as he blundered through. 

Waiting for the noise of the steps to disappear, Dean didn’t lower the gun, not until he heard feet skidding through grass. He dropped it and turned back towards Cas. The angel was still on his stomach on the bed, pants around his ankles, ass bared, completely oblivious to what was going on. His eyes were glossy and hooded, staring horrified at nothing. Hand still shaking, he shrieked and then moaned and shrieked again. 

Dean lunged to the bed and pulled Cas’ pants up, dropping his gun on the mattress. Very carefully he rolled Cas over onto his back, but even that seemed too much and dizziness took the angel, and he fought whatever hallucination was attacking him now. Ignoring Cas’ movements, Dean sat him up and rested him against Dean’s chest, head lolling over onto Dean’s shoulder. The angel was easy to maneuver, pliant, and Dean’s stomach nearly rolled as he realized that had been the whole point. With trembling fingers, he reached for the drawstring of Cas’ pants and tied them up, perhaps a bit too tight. 

Cas gave a violent jerk with surprising power, and Dean wondered if there wasn’t some angel strength left in him after all. The thought made him smile, but it only lasted a second before Cas wrenched in his arms again, this time with a scream.

“It’ll be okay, Cas,” Dean mumbled, hooking his arm under the other man’s legs, “I’m going to get you tucked in, and we’re going to ride this out, okay?”

Holding Cas against him, Dean got up on his knees and worked his way up to the pillows. Slowly so as not to jar him, Dean lowered him onto the comforter and its matching pillows and carefully pulled his arms out from under him. Moaning and twitching, Cas’ arms fell limp around him, his legs in exactly the same crooked, crushed position Dean had set them down in. With care, Dean griped Cas’ ankles and tugged his legs straight. He pushed the angel’s knees down with the palms of his hands, overly aware of touching him and desperately not wanting to. When he moved back, Cas’ eyes were wide open. It startled Dean, but he quickly realized Cas’ gaze was blank. Dean passed his hand back and forth over Cas’ face and got no reaction.

“Jesus,” Dean mumbled, scrubbing his own eyes, “I don’t…. I’m sorry, Cas, I’m so sorry.” 

He gently pulled the blanket out from under them both. Leaving the bed was a good idea but one Dean didn’t think he could make himself do, not yet at least. Now he had to pull Cas’ clothes right on his body and draw the covers up to his chin, tucking the blanket in tight all around his friend. Occasionally the blanket would come free when Cas gave a good jerk or pull. 

“Yeah,” Dean whispered through the dark, “You fight, Cas. Keep fighting.”

Dean laid back and stared at the ceiling, drawing his gun up to his chest. Sooner or later there would be retaliation for shooting the camp leader, and he was going to be ready. They weren’t going to take him away while that psychopath still had access to Cas. 

~

Something hit his shoulder, and Dean jerked awake, gun at the ready, but it was Castiel’s hand. The other man seemed more alert now, his eyes moving around, his hand clutching at the fabric of Dean’s shirt. Relaxing Dean pushed himself up on his elbow and spoke softly.

“Cas? You’re okay now. The drugs are wearing off.”

“Dean,” the word was thick and heavy as it left Castiel’s mouth, “Dean, I… I’m….”

Tears coated the angel’s face. They streamed one after another, leaving shining tracks down his face. His breath hitched in a near panic. He struggled to tilt his head back and open his throat, needing more air in his lungs. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’re safe,” Dean told him.

“I’m--I’m… sorry. Dean… please,” Cas gasped out between ragged breaths. 

“No, no, don’t be, please, Cas, don’t.”

Whether it was unconsciously or not, the fist at Dean’s shoulder was trying with a white knuckled grip to pull him closer. Dean complied, putting an arm around Castiel’s chest and pulling them closer together. He tucked Cas’ forehead under his chin and held him close, gritting his teeth against the violent tremble of Castiel’s sweat-soaked body. The angel continued to sob out apologies no matter how much Dean told him not to, and Dean wondered if this is how it usually went. Did his older self hang around to make sure Cas came out of his horrible high? Did he make Cas apologize for Dean doing that to him? Make him feel like it was all his fault and he deserved it?

He remembered what Cas had said that day--Dean knew Cas would never leave, Cas was an easy out. He had been so amused when the younger Dean told him he was better than this. 

How often did he drug and use Castiel? How many times had he raped his best friend?

Suddenly Castiel didn’t feel like a solid body to hold onto. He felt like pieces Dean was desperately trying to hold together, pieces Dean had torn him into, destroyed him, ruined him.

Dean gasped in a breath and whispered over Castiel’s sobbing, “I promise, I swear to you I will never be like him. I will never hurt you, I swear it.”

~

With morning (possibly afternoon?), Castiel groaned at his headache and drug a heavy arm up to his head. Swiftly and gently, Dean unwrapped himself from around Cas and rolled out of bed before Cas could register he wasn’t alone, and back himself up against the wall, hands in his pockets. 

Cas groaned again, straightening himself out and stretching as far as he possibly could. His body relaxed again, and he slowly peeled his eyes open. Several seconds passed, each one with a blink as he began to remember.

“Hey,” Dean said softly.

Cas jumped, clearly not expecting anyone else in his cabin, and frowned when he saw who.

“Wha--” Cas swallowed hard with his dry mouth, “What do you want?”

“To make sure you’re okay,” replied Dean, looking at him with round eyes.

“What?” asked Cas, frowning, but then he seemed to brush it off, “I’ll get changed, just give… give me a minute.”

It was crushing to watch. Cas pried the blanket out from around himself and scooted his butt closer to the edge, but then he paused. Experimentally he lifted his knee and pulled it to his chest, a genuinely puzzled look on his face.

“You--” said without looking over at Dean, “You gave me the drugs and didn’t… use me? You didn’t get pleasure out of it?”

“Look at me,” Dean said, and was surprised when Cas did just as he was told.

Dean patiently waited, keeping eye contact until Castiel understood. The angel’s eyes widened, and Dean knew he had realized which Dean he was talking to. But Castiel still struggled to understand.

“He... he drugged me for you?”

“No.”

Dean walked around the bed and up to his friend. He knelt, expecting Cas to pull away but he didn’t, just still confused.

“I was here, remember, when he made you take that last pill? I didn’t know what was going on. I didn’t…. He said things to you, about your wings.”

“Yes,” Cas confirmed, waiting for Dean to continue.

“He said he was waiting for you to lose consciousness, and when you did, he carried you to the bed and--and took your pants off. I wasn’t going to let him touch you like that.”

“You… stopped him?”

The look he was giving Dean was as if he were waiting for the human to grow a third eye on the end of his nose. Cas eased off the edge of the bed, not taking his eyes off Dean, and drifted gracefully into a small room with a white curtain. A bathroom, Dean assumed. Twenty minutes later, Cas returned, obviously still with a massive headache, holding himself up by door frames, but now he was a little more like the Cas Dean first met here. 

“So,” he said, wiping a towel on his face, voice light, “What did you do, challenge him to some masculine arm wrestle? A demon scavenger hunt? Is that why he changed his mind?”

Cas dropped the towel on a shelf and reached for a bottle tucked somewhere it the back.

“I shot him.”

The bottle dropped to the floor with a thud. Cas looked at him in shocked horror.

“What? Why--what?” stuttered Cas, almost yelling, “You shot him?”

Dean looked at him incredulously, and shouted back, “He was going to rape you.”

“So?”

“‘So?’ Are you kidding me? What, he snaps his fingers and you bend over?”

Dean stepped back as Cas continued, his voice louder and angrier than Dean had heard him, “It’s not new. He’s done it a thousand times! I’m his greatest pleasure. Five years ago, even back then, do you honestly think I would say no--to anything? It doesn’t matter what he does to me. It’s still Dean, and when I haven’t taken so much, I still get to feel him, to be alone with him, and for a few seconds I can pretend like it’s before he lost Sam. For a few seconds it’s almost like it used to be.”

“I am what it used to be!”

Cas stopped and blinked at him, but then busied himself with digging out fresh clothes. He dressed, still fuming, uncaring of his nudity. Slipping on shoes at the curtained door, he turned and spoke very steadily.

“Leave. Do not come anywhere near us, and do not be here when I get back.”

~

He did not leave. No part of him would allow it. He hadn’t heard anything about his older self and had no idea how the bastard was getting on. After Cas was gone for an hour, Dean started to regret letting Cas storm out angrily (angry at not being raped?), and then when dark had fallen again, his stomach churned uncomfortably, feet pacing one direction and then the next. He was going to hurt--his future self--was going to hurt Cas. Someone was going to hurt Cas, and he was just standing here waiting, ripping his hair out. 

Mind made up, he would leave, go and find Cas and take him somewhere safe.

Dead weight thudded onto the steps.


	2. To Fight Fate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for how long this has taken. I hope it's worth the wait.

People bustled back and forth outside, their voices drifting in through the windows and darkness of the cabin. All the other people who had huddled around Dean’s bed were gone by the time Castiel cautiously pushed the door open. Someone had closed all the shudders, but enough light got in for him to see Dean’s face and the poultice closed in his hand. He was pale but definitely breathing. Cas leaned back against the wall, a long breath leaving him he hadn’t been aware of holding. 

His whole dash over here he had been terrified. If Dean had died….

Cas closed his eyes and took another deep breath. Beside Dean’s bed sat an abandoned chair. Castiel gravitated towards it and took a seat. With a sigh, he reached out and gently laid his hand on Dean’s shirtless chest beside the bandage, relishing in the calming rise and fall of his chest. 

“I’m sorry,” Cas whispered, leaning close, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen. Please get better.”

For the next couple hours, the poultice closed up the wound. Somewhere in that time, Chuck carefully edged in, closing the door behind him. Curled in the chair, knees up, feet on the seat, Cas stared at the movement of Dean’s chest and didn’t acknowledge him as he entered. 

Chuck took a couple carefully placed steps closer, and spoke, “He said the other Dean shot him, but that we weren’t supposed to do anything. He said it was over a disagreement.”

He stopped at the end of the bed, fiddling with his fingerless gloves, “Was that disagreement over you?”

No reply came. Cas just continued to stare.

“I know he hates witchcraft,” Chuck continued, “But it seemed the only way to bring him back, and this is the reason why she’s allowed to stay here--to be useful…. He’ll be angry when he wakes up.” He glanced over at the angel. “Angry at that Dean and probably you.” Still Cas said nothing, but Chuck kept going, gingerly broaching what he wanted to say, “Him angry with you never ends well…. Maybe.... maybe you should go back to your cabin… to the other Dean. He might… protect you.”

“I don’t need protection.”

Cas’ voice was quiet and raspy. 

Watching his fingers twist the wristband of his glove, Chuck told him hesitantly, “You do. He treats you unfairly--”

“I failed him, over and over,” Cas shot, his voice louder, eyes stayed up to the wall, “It was my job to help him, to guide him, and I failed. In no way is it unfair…. Go away, Chuck.”

It was Chuck’s turn to say nothing. He walked back around Cas and his chair and up to the bedside table.

“Pulled these out of his pocket,” mumbled Chuck, setting a bottle of purple pills on it, “I was thinking… they’re hard to find, something that strong… I was thinking now might be a good time for them to… disappear?” 

Cas eyed the bottle as Chuck walked back out the door. He didn’t know how long he watched it with an empty mind before it suddenly got difficult to breathe. He put a leg down, leaned forward, and reached out with both hands. One grabbed the bottle and the other opened the drawer of the table. The pills were dropped in and the drawer shut, not angrily, not sadly, simply just put away.

~

Groaning and grunting startled Cas awake. Dean ignored the helping hands Cas offered and all advice and begging Cas did for him to stay still, and forced himself up into a sitting position. He looked down and peeled back the bloodstained bandage on his chest to see the closing hole beneath his collar bone. Cas leaned from the very edge of his chair towards his friend, hands planted on the mattress.

Quietly he said, “The witch, Caroline, she made the poultice. Don’t get rid of it yet.”

Dean frowned at him and poked the little bag next to his leg. He picked it up and gripped 

it before looking back at Cas. The other man stared at him with wide eyes and bated breath.

Dean sighed, “Cas, why are you here?”

Voice high and quiet, Castiel spoke pleadingly, “I am so sorry, I didn’t mean for any of that to happen, please.”

Cas reached out and curled his fingers around the back of Dean’s hand, but Dean pulled away, and Cas withdrew, throwing himself back in the chair, hands over his mouth, like his worst fear had been realized.

“What do you want?” asked Dean, face scrunched in pain as he tried to sit himself up further. 

“Make sure you were okay,” Cas muttered from behind his hands, “Apologize.”

Dean huffed out a pained breath, his free hand gripping his injured shoulder, and grunted, “Bookcase, bottom shelf, there’s Jane Austen.”

Cas stood and was already walking over to the decrepit bookcase in the corner before Dean was done speaking. He didn’t know how many Jane Austen books Dean had collected, but Cas knew which one he was supposed to garb--Emma. It was one of Sam’s favorite books. Castiel plucked it from the shelf and held the creased and peeling covers in his hands. Not much of anything they had wasn’t rundown. Quickly before Dean could change his mind, Cas moved back to the chair, folded his legs up, and opened the book.

Dean leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, lost in the deep poetry of Castiel’s voice.

~

60 pages later, Dean picked his head back up off the wall and looked down at his bullet wound again, rolling away the bandage. Cas looked up from the pages, his voice pausing for the first time. 

Quietly he whispered, “It looks much better.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, rolling his shoulder, “Feels like it.”

He drug his legs over the far edge of the mattress and began to leverage himself out of bed. A shock of sadness hit Castiel as he realized their time of peace was over. He closed the book and lunged forward as Dean tried to get up.

“Careful!” pleaded Cas, reaching out towards Dean’s back, but something in him made his hand fall short.

It was difficult to watch him try to stand, the poultice still clutched in one hand. He wobbled for the first few seconds but righted himself, rolling his shoulder again. Trepidation and relief washed over Cas, and he was afraid to stand. Dean walked around the bed slowly but with balance, his footsteps quiet but solid. Cas held his breath and watched him approach, walk right up to the chair. Dean looked down at his wide eyes, and Cas couldn’t discern the look. The larger man bent over slightly and took the book in Cas’ lap and tossed it onto the bed.

“Stand up,” Dean told him, and Cas did just that.

Dean threw the poultice onto the bed next to the book, and before Cas could protest that Dean wasn’t healed enough, the newly emptied hand curled a fist in the front of Cas’ shirt, and the words he meant to say never made it out.

He was jerked forward and pushed back, step by step, up against the wall of the cabin, pressed so tightly between the wood and Dean, a deep breath would have tried to separate them. Dean looked down, connecting their gazes, boring into Cas, freezing the angel in place. Hands pulled at the drawstrings of Cas’ pants, slowly sliding the bow out of place, and fingers tugged the waistband until their feeble grip on Castiel’s hips gave way, and they pooled around Cas’ ankles. Dean’s eyes still bored into him, challenging him to move, to protest, to do anything other than comply completely. 

Bruising fingertips dug into Castiel’s upper arm and yanked him around to slam the already abused body against the wall. A huff of breath was forced out of him as his chest compressed, and he closed his eyes, resting his hands and cheek against the wall, just waiting as Dean’s hands took ownership of his hip bones, digging in bruises. 

It had been a few days since someone had taken pleasure in this body. Cas was good at relaxing, good at making this as little painful as possible, but if no one took him, he didn’t think to do it himself, truly didn’t want to. 

Pain laced through him. One steady, forceful jerk of Dean’s hips had his cock buried in Cas’ body. It was nothing he hadn’t felt before, but that didn’t stop the whimper from squeaking in his throat as he clenched his eyes and jaw and hands shut. Dean was of the opinion that Castiel didn’t need lube, not when his body could be ripped and torn until the skin gave in and complied with Dean’s movements. Besides, Dean had told him, blood was the best lubricant anyway. 

Dean’s forehead fell to the top of Cas’ ear. The human closed his eyes and ghosted a breath down the neck beneath him. Cas’ hips ached from the grip Dean hands had on them, and it only tightened as Dean pulled back, his cock half out, and yanked Cas’ ass onto him. Another whimper left the angel, but he didn’t object. Dean met him with a thrust that crashed Castiel forward into the wall. He pulled back again and slammed Cas onto him, sheathing himself in the pliant body.

Dark lines ran along the insides of Cas’ thighs. Being slammed into the wall and jerked back to be forcefully entered again and thrown against the wood, like a grotesque rag doll, was enough that he didn’t feel the dripping until it reached the backs of his knees. A tiny part of his brain registered how much he was bleeding this time, and it crushed him. 

Worthless. Over and over, that’s what they all said. Useless. But what they said didn’t matter. Only Dean mattered. And Dean thought he was worse. A stupid fuck toy, one not important enough for consent or care or even lube. His pain didn’t matter. It never had, but that was okay. He just needed Dean to pretend, just for a second, just for him, pretend they were alright, that Dean didn’t hate him, wasn’t revolted by him. Castiel needed that so badly it hurt his chest and constricted his breathing.

A sob escaped his lips, but it was mangled as Dean crushed him and pulled him and fucked into him so violently Cas’ head snapped back and forth. He put his forearms on the wall and braced his head against them. If he tried, he could keep it there, and Dean wouldn’t see the few tears he couldn’t keep at bay.

What he needed from Dean, he’d never get. He didn’t deserve that peace. He deserved this, fucked like a broken bitch against the wall, pain tensing every muscle, blood running down his legs. Once he had been beautiful. His brothers and sisters looked at him with respect. Now the only thing he was thankful for was that they were not around to see him. 

Dean stopped throwing him around suddenly and pinned him flat, rutting frantically into him like he was possessed. Castiel gritted his teeth together and bore it silently, knowing it was close to being over. A few thrusts later, Dean pulled out of him completely. Before Castiel’s confusion could set in, Dean turned him around and pressed them chest to chest again. For a second, everything froze as their faces were so close, Dean breathed into him. Demanding hands reached around him and picked Castiel up, legs wrapping around Dean’s hips, and hands gripping his biceps in an attempt to avoid the gunshot wound. One roll of his hips pushed him forward, sliding easily into the angel. 

Cas’ back arched away from the wall as Dean’s erection pulled and rubbed over open tears, but he did his best to take it gracefully. 

But Dean didn't move. He pressed them closer and rested his forehead against Castiel’s, panting unpleasant breath into his face. The look in Dean’s eyes, for the moment, wasn’t angry or brutal or hateful or disgusted or taunting. It was searching, like he was looking for something that he wasn't quite sure was there. Cas didn’t move, didn't breathe, didn’t want to do anything that would break this spell. 

In a quiet, gruff voice, Dean said, “I cared for you so much…. I was bad at showing it, but I did.”

A piece of Cas ached at the use of past tense. One of Dean’s hands came up, his forearm smeared with blood from the back of Cas’ thigh. Two fingers touched to Cas’ temple and brushed down his cheek. They stopped at his jaw. Dean’s penetrating gaze latched onto the angel’s mouth, and Dean’s lips were on him. 

A desperate sob nearly torn free as Cas tried not to move. He didn't know if it was okay to touch or kiss, and he was so scared to do both. All he did was open his mouth wider for Dean's tongue when it seemed wanted, trying to be as pliant as possible. 

Slowly Dean began to rock his pelvis into the man wrapped around him. It hurt still, the way Dean’s cock drug in and out of him, but as Dean kissed him, if Cas tried hard enough, he could almost convince himself he liked it. 

Dean released Cas’ chin and reached over to one of his hands, pulling it up to match against the red print on Dean’s shoulder. A whimper did leave Cas then, and he finally kissed back. It was pure bliss to kiss Dean, even with his raw opening still being worked. But it wasn't cruel fucking. It was almost gentle. 

“You should hate me,” Dean whispered against Cas’ lips.

“I know.”

“But you don't hate me.”

“Never.”

Dean nipped at Cas’ lower lip and licked his way into his mouth again. The rocking of hips increased. Dean’s cock pushed into Cas’ hole and withdrew, over and over, faster and faster until it was almost too much, but Dean didn't release his mouth. 

“Cas,” Dean gasped, and another whimper betrayed Castiel.

Dean never said his name, never addressed him at all except for name calling.

“Cas!” 

A particularly rough shove buried Dean to the balls in Cas’ ass, a throaty groan vibrating through their lips as Dean emptied himself into Cas’ body with a shudder.

“Cas,” Dean whispered one more time.

He broke the sloppy kiss and inspected the angel’s face again, his hand, trembling slightly, gently touching the trail his eyes left behind.

“Say it,” Castiel begged, his voice high and needy, “Dean, please say it, out loud. I need to hear it. Please.”

Dean’s thumb ran over Cas’ wet bottom lip. 

His eyes darkened. With both hands, he reached behind himself and pried Cas’ ankles apart, shoving them down. Cas nearly hit the ground before his shaking legs held him, hand searching the wall behind him for support. Dean stepped away and turned.

“Don't be here when I get back. And don't leave a mess,” he ordered, a hard edge to his voice.

“Dean,” Cas begged, watching him leave, leaning against the wall to keep him up, “Please!”

The door shut with the sharp crack of rickety wood on wood. 

Being high was like this, watching himself move and speak without feeling like it was him, but this went further. He was too disconnected, too far away. He didn't know when his body slid to the floor, and he couldn't feel it when his lungs began to ache because he couldn't breathe. His feet moved back and forth on the floor, and his hands clutched at nothing, some part of him needing purchase, something to ground him. 

The first scratching noise that left him brought him back to his body, but he couldn't do anything. His legs drew up to his chest. Another terrible sound left him, and tears began to fall. In a desperate need for comfort, he leaned forward and pushed his forehead into his knees. His arms came up and wrapped around the back of his head. It was the closest he could ever remember being held. 

Blood and cum leaked out of his body and pooled under him in a pink mess.

Castiel was familiar with crying of course, but this--he had never reached the point of no breath and dehydration, but this time, for the first time, in the dark with his pants around one ankle, Castiel sobbed.

~

Genuinely unsure about what time it was or how long Dean had been gone, Castiel tried to get his breath together. He wiped his face on one sleeve and then the other and looked around himself as if he could not recall where he was, but of course he knew. He just didn’t know what else to do. He could use some pills, any pills at this point.

With stiff fingers, he curled them around the waistband of his pants and pulled them up his legs as far as they would go. Still gripping them with one hand so they didn’t fall, Castiel levered himself with the wall up to his feet. He gasped at the pain of standing, grinding his sore forehead against the wall. He swallowed hard and reached down to tie his pants securely on his hips. It was then he noticed the puddle slowly staining the wood. Dean’s warning about not leaving a mess echoed in his head.

Looking around, there were no rags or bandages left from patching Dean up, not even dirty clothes on the floor. Dean had always been strangely neat. With a groan, Cas pulled his shirt up and over his head and let it fall over the mess. He put one foot on it, careful to only move his leg from the knee down, and mopped it up. Faced with a new challenge, he stared at his shirt for a few seconds and then groaned as he slid his back down the wall until the tips of his fingers could pinch his shirt and pushed himself back up by locking his knees. 

The shirt was slimy now. He held it, contemplating putting it back on. He had to make it back to his cabin across the camp. It wasn’t going to be a fast journey, and if one of the others in the camp decided they needed something easy to fuck, he didn’t think he’d be able to get back within the night. In favor of safety, he slipped his ruined shirt back over his head, hoping he looked disgusting enough to keep others away.

Each step was burning and grating outside and in, and his teeth ached from being clenched so long. Slowly he made his way out of the cabin and down the steps, practically hugging the railing until his feet were in the grass. As he expected, the walk was tortuously tedious. A couple times fear shot through him when others looked at him. One of the men smiled at him, and he almost started to run, but running somehow made it fun for them. He never understood, even now that he was human, why was he afraid of these people when they could do no worse than what he already experienced? It would not be new or surprising or give him any injury he didn’t know how to deal with, but still the fear came.

The man who smiled at him started to follow, gaining ground. Castiel quickened his footsteps even though he knew not to. He just wanted to be home. Still the man drew closer, and Castiel broke out into a run. Fresh blood spilled down his legs, but he didn’t care. He could see his cabin and the beaded curtain that now had gaps hanging with the string. Several feet away, a few, he lifted his leg to mount the steps, but in his fear lifted it higher than need be, too high, and pain produced a reflex that shoved his leg down too early, and his body crashed down into the steps. 

He closed his eyes, despair gripping him and waiting for the man to as well, but then he heard the beads move and the click of a gun.

“Back off!” Dean forced shouted, gun held with both hands, “Get fucking gone!”

Cas heard feet retreat at once. He would have relaxed, but whatever Dean was there for would probably be worse than what that man might have done. Strong hands gripped under his arms and practically picked him up and set him right on his feet.

“Dean, please,” Cas muttered.

“We’ll get you inside, get you cleaned up, okay?”

It wasn’t Dean’s words or clothes or that he seemed unhindered by injury that tipped Cas off. It was the note of worry, the urgency in his voice that made Cas look at him properly. By the time they were edging into the flickering light of Cas’ cabin, he had it figured out. Dean leaned his shoulder against the wall and dashed from drawer to drawer looking for new clothes. 

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Cas said quietly, “I should not have yelled at you.”

“Don’t even think about it,” replied Dean, finding a similar looking outfit and turning back to him.

He wanted to ask Cas if he was okay, what happened, where was he hurt, but the blood stain oozing in an ever wider circle in Cas’ pants made it all fairly obvious. He was surprised however, when he helped his friend change his shirt and didn’t find an injury. He inspected Cas’ torso front and back.

“I’m not hurt,” Cas told him quietly.

“The blood on your shirt…?”

“Had to clean the floor.”

For a second Dean’s movements froze, rage tumbling through every blood vessel in his body. He controlled it though, worried Cas might think the anger was aimed at him. 

“Is there… is there some sort of bandage or… something?” Dean asked with a hesitant frown.

A diaper would probably be best, he thought, but he would never suggest it. Cas had enough dignity torn away as it was.

“There are cloth scraps in that drawer,” Cas pointed across the cabin to a small chest of drawers, “I’ll just… sit on some.”

Dean turned his back, and Cas took the opportunity to force his shaking hands into the back of the shelf beside him and withdraw a canister of pills. He almost dropped them in his need to get it open. When the lid popped off, he swallowed three and contemplated on more. 

This time trying to keep his anger in check, Dean cracked a tooth as he pulled out the blood stained cloths. This obviously wasn’t the first time they were used for this, He handed them over and helped Cas into bed and tried to find himself something to be busy over while Cas situated his cloth scraps. 

“Dean,” he heard, his name soft.

He approached the bed and sat on the edge. Still and no longer frantic, he took in the red patches of his friend’s face, the swollen pink around his eyes, the crust on the rim of one of his nostrils--Cas had been crying--crying a lot. What had that fucking monster done to him this time?

“Are you okay?” Dean asked, touching the side of his face.

The skin was warmer than it should have been. Cas reached up and took Dean’s wrist, pulling it down to his chest and holding it with the his other hand. Dean let him, unable to deny him something so simple. 

“Dean, are we friends? In your time, do you think we’re friends?” asked Castiel, his voice cracked and hoarse.

“Of course,” answered Dean gently, “You risked your neck to stop the apocalypse and save Sammy. Since then, you are the only person I have. I rely on you. Do you know what we did last week? We trapped Raphael, remember that? And I took you to that hooker club?”

A smile tugged at one side of Cas’ mouth, and he whispered, “Yeah.”

“Thank you for fun. I needed that so badly, to laugh like that. Yeah, absolutely we’re friends…. But ah… know what? We’re friends in your time too.”

Cas’ eyes dropped to the hand he was holding on his chest, and said, “No, no, he does not care for me. Not anymore.”

“No, Cas, I’m talking about you and me, this you and this me. We’re friends too,”

Dean was unprepared for the wash of emotion that overcame the angel. At first it was wide eyes and an open mouth, hands gripping his wrist, and then he felt a harsh jerk of Cas’ chest as he tried to hold back more sobbing but couldn’t. Tears spilled out thick and hot, his breathing ragged and almost useless. Dean didn’t know what to do. He clearly should never speak again. It would make everyone’s lives a lot easier. Cas turned on his side towards him, half curling around where Dean sat, and alarm shot through the human. He wanted to push Cas’ hips back down where he was less likely to bleed more, but as his hand reached airspace over Cas’ side, Dean hesitated. He didn’t want Cas to get the wrong idea, and after seeing the black, spotted bruises, he also really didn’t want to hurt him further. Since Cas didn’t make any effort to move again, Dean let it go.

Gradually the crying stopped, and Dean felt he could stop awkwardly stroking Cas’ back. 

“Please don’t leave,” Cas said thickly, his face mashed against Dean’s knee. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Dean promised. 

Just a few minutes later, he was sure his angel was asleep. In a desperate need to not wake him, Dean didn’t move. For hours. 

Not until he heard feet pound up the steps. Before his older self could enter, Dean was standing with gun in hand. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cas blink at the sudden movement and awakening. Arrogantly parting the beads, future Dean strolled in and smirked when he saw the gun. 

“You know, I have an entire armed camp ready to come in here and blow you both to bits if they hear a gunshot, so how about you put that away, and we’ll talk.”

“How about I shoot you in your smug face, take Cas, and leave?” countered the younger Dean, making no move to lower his weapon.

“It’s your smug face,” countered the older one, shuffling to the side.

The other Dean moved and stood firmly at the end of Cas’ bed, muzzle still trained on the intruder. Future Dean put his hands in his pockets with a dramatic sigh.

“You have to realize,” he said, “We are the same person. I am you. You are me. There is no need for all the fighting. For as long as you’re here, the camp could use another authority figure, and I will share everything with you. It’s a damn good deal.”

“I don’t want to be part of your camp, and I sure as hell don’t want anything that’s yours.”

Future Dean laughed, and said incredulously, pointing to the bed, “Are you serious? You have been after him since the moment you arrived.”

Past Dean side stepped to block Cas from view, and said angrily, “He is not yours! He doesn’t belong to anyone.”

“Oh no, Dean,” the older one said, stepping forward, “Even in your denial, you have to know that’s not true. He was ours the moment he dragged us out of hell.”

The younger version couldn’t have this conversation. It was insane. His future self was slowly circling around the room as he talked, the gun followed him the end of the bed. 

“Cas,” past Dean said, not looking away from the monster, “Get some stuff together. We’re leaving.”

“Don’t move,” future Dean said, shooting Cas a glare.

Dean didn’t see the fear in Cas’ eyes flit from one Dean to the other, but he noticed Cas made no rustling noise with the blanket, staying put.

“Cas, you know I won’t let him hurt you. Just get your stuff, and we’ll leave.”

“He just wants you for himself,” future Dean said with a smile, this time looking at his younger self as he spoke, “He’ll take you away, be so sweet, be your hero until it gets too tedious, then he’ll take you just the same. If you disgust me, you’ll disgust him. It’ll just take time that’s all, and then you’ll be in the same position only without this big, comfy cabin and that big comfy bed.”

“Don’t talk to him like he’s a child.”

“Oh please. He’s practically disabled, the slow way his brain moves; he’s autistic. Don’t deny you haven’t thought it. I know you have.”

It was true. Dean had wondered what the hell was wrong with Cas, but they weren’t his best moments, and he knew they were mean thoughts.

“Our autistic, fuckable angel without wings. That should go one the door.”

“Even if you’re right, which you’re not, and I would have become you, it won’t happen anymore. I know to watch out for you. Sam won’t let me be you. Cas won’t let me be you. Mostly, I won’t let me be you.”

The older Dean narrowed his eyes at him and said in a much quieter voice, “No matter what choices you make, what path you choose, what you think you’ll do differently, none of it will matter. After dad, after losing Sam, after Hell--do you remember Hell--after starting the apocalypse, and losing Sam again, do you honestly think you could take up yoga and change the future? Alister started this, Dean, you know he did. You can feel it, how dark and empty you are. Do you know what fills it?” he pointed towards the bed, “That angel. I told you before, taking him is like nothing you’ve ever felt. How powerful you’ll feel, how in control. Just once, that’s all it will take, and you’ll keep him.”

Swallowing, feeling like he should be argueing somehow, the younger Dean said, “It won’t get to that. I won’t ever do that to him.”

“Oh you will,” his future self said with a triumphant grin, “Do you know how I know? Because I’m still here.” He put his arms out and slowly turned around.

Past Dean blinked, and all the words sank in. He was right. Despite what Dean did or said, his future was staring back at him. If Dean succeeded in being different, this version of events would fade. But the monster was still here.

“You’re right,” Dean said softly.

His hands stayed steady and trained, but for the first time he turned his head and looked at Cas, who swallowed and pulled the blanket tight to his chest, eyes wide.

The younger said, “Castiel, with or without wings, my time or yours, you’re the only real angel that’s ever been in the sky… the only angel….”

Dean pulled the gun back, shoved the muzzle under his own chin, and squeezed.

BANG.

~

“That’s not how that was supposed to go,” Zachariah said in his drawling voice.

Dean’s eyes snapped open, and he vaulted off the bed. 

The room was put together. The lights were working. He could hear the vents function. Sprinting to the window, he stuck his head out, and his whole body sank with relief. The buildings were intact. Cars were moving rather than piled up in the road. People were talking, laughing, walking by on sidewalks free of debris. He put his forehead down on the windowsill and took a deep breath. 

“I was thinking it would scare you,” Zachariah continued, “But I wasn’t expecting to scare to suicide.”

Dean stood up and turned around to face him.

“You sick son of a bitch,” he hissed, “You knew all of that, and you sent me on purpose?”

“Yes,” said the angel with a smile, “But the great news is that you don’t have to kill yourself. You can just say yes to Michael instead. It still solves all your personal problems.”

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face, and for the first time seriously considered it. Zach was right. Having Michael control him would keep him from being that monster.

“No,” Dean said.

Zachariah’s eyebrows shot up incredulously, “Sorry, no? Do you not understand?”

“No, I understand, but if I say yes to Michael, Sammy is still alone, and Cas is left out in the cold again. No. I won’t be him. If that means shooting myself again, fine, but I won’t leave them until there is no other option.”

“You are out of options!” Zachariah yelled, storming towards him, “I will put you through such pain, you’ll beg for Hell!”

Then Zach was gone, and so was the room. Dean found himself staring at a dark, wet road lined with forest. It was darker here than where he had been seconds earlier, and almost completely silent. 

And to the right stood Castiel.

In a trench coat and backwards tie, his head tilted and his gaze quizzical. Dean’s eyes ran down him but found no obvious injuries. He realized he was staring, and smiled.

He took a step closer and clapped a hand on Cas’ shoulder, and said, “Good timing.”

“We had an appointment,” Cas told him, a cheeky little smile growing on his mouth. 

Dean pulled his hand away, feeling like he should be punched for even that touch. He pulled out his phone. As the phone speed dialed one of Sam’s numbers, Dean stood back and watched his friend squint up at the stars, a smile still stuck to his face. 

Both of them, Dean thought, he needed both of them, and they would keep him human.


End file.
